To Conquer Death
by Stefbug
Summary: How do you kill Death when they're someone that you know so well? Sage goes to see if there is anything left of the Remy LeBeau that she remembers in Death.


Disclaimer

I do not own any of the characters contained within this story. I am just messing with them, for no profit and with no intent to infringe on Marvel's ownership. 

Also, this fic is fairly dark and has death in it, just to let you know. 

Author's Note

This is the result of something that sprung up during a what if moment between Kaz and I, and then mutated into a full blown fic when I was very, very bored in work. 

Enjoy 

To Conquer Death

"What are you doing?" 

Death snorted at the sound of the soft female voice behind him, not turning from the killing field that the Marauders had just vacated. Even over the screams, moans and whimpers of the dying he'd heard her approaching, despite the fact that she hadn't made a sound. Did she really think that she could sneak up on him with her heart pounding like a drum in her chest? 

"Enjoying the view, chere, what does it look like?" He laughed. It was a cold and inhuman sound, and he let his voice slip back into its old accent briefly. Reaching out a hand he watched as a mist rose over the field, muffling the sounds of suffering and dying, and then turned his head slightly to regard her, ignoring the effect his powers were having. 

She stood there, under the trees, looking much the same as she had the last time he'd seen her. Her black hair was swept up elegantly and the scars were dark on her face under the ever-present glasses. She was dressed in leather, much like he was, but her's concealed far less. It was almost as if nothing had changed between them. Then he looked at her properly and she began to flicker. 

A thousand possible deaths shifted across her, each one changing her image to match the outcome. Suicide featured most predominantly, followed by revenge from the Hellfire Club or a failed mission. Her body bruised, bled and scarred so quickly that he wasn't sure what he'd really seen. He'd never met someone whose death was so uncertain and it fascinated him. 

"Is there anything left of you in there, Remy?" She took a step closer to him, seemingly unfazed by the fact that he could reach out with one hand and crush her. He could tell that she was scared though, could hear her heart speeding up and the tiniest hitch in her breathing. "Is there anything left of the man I remember?" 

He smiled at that, a wide grin that appeared more like a baring of teeth, and shook his head in amusement. Remy. He hadn't heard that name since he had wrapped his hands around Rogue's throat, determined to free himself of that bitch once and for all. "Remy's dead, in case you hadn't noticed, chere," he slipped that last word in there to twist the knife again. 

Knowing that she'd need a demonstration he began to close the hand that was still outstretched, feeling the number of deaths begin to mount as those too weak to resist started to succumb to the gas. The muffled sounds of pain and pleading gradually faded out into silence as they died and he couldn't help but laugh. It was a wonderful feeling, all those lives slipping away. 

He kept his eyes on her face as he killed them and wasn't surprised to see nothing more than the slightest wince and flicker of something that he couldn't quite define mar her face. She was far too well trained to ever show what she was really feeling, but he still felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that he could get even that small reaction from her. "What are you doing here Sage, hmm? Come to see if you can't tempt me back to the X-Men?" 

He turned to face her properly now, devoting his full attention to her, ready for any foolish plan she might have to be put into action. He could feel the potential for death bubbling beneath her surface, and he was just waiting for it to explode. Her eyes were narrow, an almost angry look to them despite the covering of the glasses. He'd managed to break the Ice Queen's shell after all. 

"No." The word took him by surprise, as did the vehemence behind it. The X-Men were all about reaching out to their greatest enemies and offering second chances, and she'd brushed that conclusion off like it was nothing. "I came to see if there was anything worth saving in you," her eyes flicked briefly to the carnage behind him and narrowed further. Apparently she hadn't seen what she'd wanted to. 

The attack that followed was deadly in its efficiency, and the speed at which she was moving should have guaranteed that the shot she fired went through his skull. She was fast, he'd give her that, but he was faster. By the time she'd pulled the gun he was already moving and a heartbeat after he knocked her shot wide, he had her back against one of the trees, gun thrust forcefully into her throat. Of course he could have taken her out with his powers, but there was something about her that made him want to be hands on for this. 

He knew from the report of the weapon that it was loaded with real bullets, not the tranquilisers that she normally carried, and it worried him faintly. X-Men didn't kill. "I could kill you now X-Man," he said, pushing her in to the tree with the weight of his body, his amusement beginning to wane. "I want to know why they sent you, of all people. Why not Rogue?" 

She swallowed carefully, the gun bobbing slightly with the motion, and then shook her head. Tears were forming in her eyes, visible where her glasses had fallen off in the scuffle. "They don't even know I'm here. Rogue was willing to just wait for Remy to come back, the others were willing to give up, but I had to know for sure." 

"Careful chere, a man might think that you actually cared about him." He shifted slightly, pressing further into her, ensuring that she couldn't move without injuring herself and enjoying the feel of her against him at the same time. "Not that it matters now, of course. Remy is dead, and you're going to join him." 

This time she nodded, ignoring the fact that his finger was tightening on the trigger, and the tears that were beginning to spill down her cheeks. "One last request then, before you pull the trigger," she didn't beg, or plead, just asked with a quiet air of resignation about her. She knew that he would do it, that Remy LeBeau was gone forever, replaced with Death. Her heart was even slowing down, certainty overwhelming the adrenalin response that fear had imposed on it. 

"How can I deny such a beautiful woman?" He couldn't resist a smile, this one an echo of his former roguish self, even as distorted as he was by Apocalypse's machines. "Especially when she is going to become such a beautiful corpse." 

"A kiss." She met his eyes as she asked, giving nothing away, echoes of death still playing across her skin when he looked deeper. Even now there were still hundreds of them, although none placed her at more than a few years older than she was now, and suicide still weighed in heaviest. The amusement returned and he chuckled at the ludicrousness of the request. 

"A kiss," his grin widened and he fought down the urge to laugh again. This was the most fun he'd had since revealing himself to the X-Men months ago. "You aren't going to beg me to stop, to say that this isn't me and that I should free myself from Apocalypse's brainwashing?" he asked, reminded of Rogue's reaction ever so briefly before he pushed it to one side.

"No," another headshake, her eyes still meeting his without flinching, "We both know that it would be pointless don't we, Death." Her despair was almost palpable and he almost wished that someone else were here to listen to the great Sage admitting defeat. This was his private victory though and he was determined to enjoy it to the fullest. 

"You're finally learning. Too little, too late though." He caressed her face with his free hand, marvelling at the softness of her skin and the contrast of the scars. He could almost feel the rage that had marked her indelibly and was glad to be stealing someone else's prize. He finished the caress with his fingers lifting her chin slightly. "A kiss then," he said, before forcing his lips brutally against hers in complete contrast to the gentleness of the touches before. 

"What's the matter Sage?" He whispered as the first tremor ran through her, barely noticeable except for the fact that he was pressed so close to her, "You've started to shake my dear." He couldn't resist now and the laugh rang out over the deserted area. 

"It won't work on me you know, your little poison," he watched her eyes widen as she realised that he had fathomed her plan and thwarted it. "Did you think that I couldn't sense the death on your lips? Silly girl." He patted her on the cheek as she shuddered again, entirely involuntarily, this tremor stronger than the last. "And it isn't a painless poison is it, hmm?" 

"No, it isn't." There was no fear in her voice, something which did surprise him, but he noted with satisfaction the fact that she had to lock her jaw to keep it from chattering. Looking at her now he saw only one death and what he saw made him smile. 

"Starting to get cold, are you?" he cooed, stroking her face again and wiping away the beads of sweat that were beginning to form on her lip. He twitched the gun slightly where it was still pressing in to her throat. "I could end it here and now, you know. With one pull of the trigger you wouldn't have to go through all that pain." Another thought came to him and he laughed, a low chuckle this time, all menace and promise. 

"Or I could give you one last pleasure," he cooed as he moved his free hand down to the leather covered breast that was pressed against him. He'd not felt the need to get intimate with anyone since he'd become Death, but he'd allowed the Marauders their fun, and there was something about Sage that made him want to experience that. "I," he paused, what felt like a cramp tugging at the edge of his awareness, "I could, I eh…" he shook, hard enough that he almost bit his tongue. 

"What's the matter Death? You've started to shake." This time it was Sage who laughed, even as she turned the line he'd used on her around. He could still feel her trembling against him, but it was nothing compared to the shudders that wracked his own frame. 

"No, you can't have," he pushed away from her; stumbling slightly, dropping the gun, and regarded her with shock and disbelief. "I'm Death, you can't kill me." 

"I got a taste of your DNA Death, courtesy of Rogue." The grin that was on her face was almost feral and he found that it actually scared him, although he would never admit it out loud. She was gloating. "I designed this poison to specifically act against you," she continued, before the first cramp hit her and left her doubled over, gasping for air. 

"You bitch!" He growled, focusing through the fog that felt like it was filling his head, "I'm going to…" he started to gather his powers, ready to suck the air from her lungs and then the fog thickened and everything went hazy. 

The first thing he noticed was the cold, almost bone deep despite the heat of the day. The second was that he couldn't remember what he was doing here. The third was Sage, leant against a tree, looking at him as if he were a viper about to strike. "Sage, chere?" 

"Remy?" She pushed her self away from the tree, clearly with effort, and moved closer to him, reaching a hand out to brush over his face. He leant in to the touch, relieved to feel something warm against his skin, even if she did feel like she was burning up. He couldn't understand why he felt so cold. 

"Oui chere," he gave her a lopsided grin, feeling the faintest hint of shakes that he attributed to adrenalin, "de one an' only. Now chere, why don' y'," he was about to ask her to explain what the hell was going on when her face creased in pain and she fell to her knees. "Chere!" 

"It's all right Remy," she brushed away the hand he offered to help her up choosing to stay on her knees, so he joined her instead, surreptitiously checking her over for injuries as he had since they'd started working on the same team. She was notorious for not letting anyone know when she was hurt. "I'll be just fine," she smiled, though the effect was ruined as she grimaced again, "Don't worry about a thing." 

He looked at her, more concerned now than ever, and as he did he become aware of something flickering on the edge of his vision. Letting his eyes unfocus slightly he could see it, a countenance of pain and death that overlaid her like a shroud. He shook his head and the image cleared, leaving her looking up at him expectantly.

"You're dyin' chere, I can see it," he snapped, disturbed by what he had seen and what he was beginning to remember. Had he really become Death? Had he really been that stupid? None of that mattered now though, what mattered was the woman holding back grunts of pain in front of him. "What've y' done Sage?" 

"Saved you I hope," she looked up at him, the tears suddenly running down her face the only sign that she was feeling anything at all. "I'd hate for all of this to be for nothing." 

"What de hell…" he was going to ask her what she was going on about since his memories were still hazy at best, but the shakes that he had attributed to an adrenalin surge had returned with a vengeance. "Oh mon Dieu…" he managed, before the gut wrenching agony forced all thoughts out of his mind. He'd never felt anything like this, not even when he'd been Sinister's lab rat, not even when he offered himself to Apocalypse. This was true pain. 

"Relax," he didn't see Sage move, but as the pain eased slightly he found himself lying with his head in her lap. At any other time he would have been making jokes and flirting, but as another wave of agony hit him it was the furthest thing from his mind. "I've got you," she murmured, almost too low for him to hear as she began to run a hand through his hair. "Not much longer now." 

"Y' gonna let me die chere?" he managed to gasp out between spasms, desperate for some sort of reassurance. The calculating look on her face chilled him deeper than the cold of the poison. "Chere?" he was able to choke out as he began to fight for breath. Still she just watched him, face expressionless except for the occasional flicker of pain. 

If he could have drawn breath he would have screamed as she stabbed something into his chest, through the leather of his uniform. However there was no more breath to be drawn and he saw her frown in concern when he didn't respond to the fresh pain that was washing through him. Whatever she had stabbed him with hurt more than the poison, although he would have said moments ago that it wasn't possible for anything to hurt more than that. 

Everything started to fade to black and he dimly heard her cursing, which was almost enough to get him to pay attention to what she was saying. Sage didn't curse, she never lost control like that. He felt something press down hard on his chest and Sage's voice, slightly clearer now saying "Come on, come on, don't die on me now Remy." Suddenly he found himself on his side, black bile spewing out of him, Sage's hot hands supporting him. "Much better."

"Sage?" He whispered, his voice shredded by the ferocity of the retching, "What?" That was all of the question that he could manage, but he was sure that she would know exactly what he was asking. She always did. When she didn't answer immediately he struggled to pull enough of his strength together to ask the question properly, wishing he could just relax in her arms and sleep instead. 

"The antidote was keyed to your specific gene pattern." Her voice, strained and husky brought him back from the edge of sleep. Fighting to focus he looked up at her, watching her smile at him. "Anything foreign, anything tainted by Death, will be rejected by your body." She gestured to the bile. "You're free Remy." 

"Wait," it was almost too much to take in and he needed a moment to process it. He was free. Free to be Remy LeBeau again, free from Apocalypse and Sinister and most importantly free from Death. Then he saw her flinch, pain pulling her face tight. "What about y' chere. Where's de antidote f' you?" He wasn't expecting the strange, sad smile that she gave him, or the lack of answer so he asked again. "Sage, where's de antidote f' you?" 

"Hush Remy," she reached out and put a finger to his lips. The heat was so unbearable that he almost drew away in disgust. Instead he struggled into a sitting position, feeling kitten weak but stronger than before, and regarded her with serious eyes. 

"Non chere, I won' hush." He found himself getting scared and angry. She was looking so calm, so peaceful, that he could almost believe that there was nothing wrong until another spasm of pain etched itself across her features. "There's got to be an antidote f' you," he was half shouting now, reaching out to grab hold of her, to shake some sense into her and trying not to feel the heat radiating off of her body or the shakes wracking it. "Where're y' hidin' it chere? Dis ain't fuckin' funny." 

"Enough Remy," she snapped at him before starting to cough. He moved so that he was supporting her, holding her steady as she shook and spluttered. When she eventually managed to regain her composure she began to speak again and he tried to fool himself that it was lipstick and not blood coating her lips. "There is no antidote for me. I wasn't anticipating the poison affecting me, I designed it for you after all." She gave him a wry grin and said something that almost made his heart stop. "I made a mistake." 

"Non." He shook his head in denial. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. He could be responsible for someone else's death, but not like this. Besides, Sage didn't make mistakes. It was all just some big joke that she was playing on him. "You can't die for me. I'm not worth it."

"Yes you are," he almost missed it, it was whispered so quietly. He did hear it however and it sent his mind spiralling again. 

"Why chere? Why not wait f' de rest of de X-Men? Why sacrifice y'self f' me?" He realised that he was almost pleading with her, those things that he wasn't saying coming out almost as loud as those that he was. He was screaming inwardly at her to let him know that this was just a joke, her retribution for something he'd done to her months ago, anything but what he knew it was. Because Death didn't lie, and it was showing him her fate, in technicolor cruelty. 

"Because I care about you, I…" she coughed again, more blood coming up to join what was already on her lips. It was the rich dark colour of heart's blood, something that he could remember covering his hands not all that long ago. There was no mistaking it. He held her until the coughing fit had passed, watching the pain get more pronounced on her face, giving her all the time she needed to say what it was she wanted to say. "I love you," she finally managed to gasp out. 

"An' y' tell me dis now chere, when y're dyin'. Dat's jus' cruel." He found himself angry again; at her, at the situation, at the fact that he could do nothing to save her as she had done for him, at the fact that she was being stolen from him, the Prince of Thieves. Despite the anger, he continued to hold her hoping that it afforded her some comfort. 

"I'm sorry Remy I…" she stiffened it his arms, face contorting and breath hitching, until he was afraid that she was going to hurt herself with the seizure. It turned to be a moot point as she went limp in his arms, blood running down her chin and onto his arm. 

"No Sage, don', I…" he knew that she was beyond hearing now, that she had stopped breathing with that last seizure and hadn't started again. Looking into her peaceful face, which showed no signs of the agony in which she died, he began to sob, holding her tightly as if someone was going to try and take her away from him. In the distance of his mind he could almost hear Death laughing. 

"How'm I supposed t' live wit' dis chere, hmm?" he began to speak through the tears, needing to get this out, needing someone to hear it even if it was only the carrion birds and the corpses they were beginning to feast on. "Knowing dat I meant enough t'y' dat y'd kill y'self t' save me. How'm I supposed t' live wit' not bein' able t' tell y' how I feel?" he was almost shouting at the end, his pain threatening to tear itself out of him in uncontrolled bursts of energy. 

"Can't do it chere." Hands shaking he set her down and stood, his body feeling older than death itself. Moving stiffly he walked to where he had dropped her gun and picked it up, smelling briefly the familiar scent of gun oil and desert spice that he had always associated with her. He smiled a little at the memories that it brought up although the tears kept falling. "Can live wit' their blood on my hands, but not yours. I jus' can't." 

The shot rang out over the field, startling the crows and scavengers that had settled to feast for a moment. They settled again soon enough when there was no movement, feeding indiscriminately on all of the bodies laying there, not caring if it was Death that had killed them or love.


End file.
